Jitterbug
by CyborgCinderella
Summary: Paris in the height of the jazz age. Societies young elite are dancing the night away in the cities shady underground Jazz clubs, while Marinette is suck up to her elbows in flour, working her life away. As Marinette finds herself introduced into this bohemian world and a suave man in black on the dance floor, conflicted as she finds herself caught between one life and the next.
1. Chapter 1

When Marinette woke, the sky still held traces of the night. Stars were still visible in the darkness, even as the sun bleached the sky in dawn. Through the cracked and buckled window nestled in the rafters, she watched frosted pane turn from indigo to grey-blue and counted down the minutes she would be left alone in the blankets of her cot. She could hear the bustle of her mother on the floor below, and even up here, she could sense the ever-present smell of fresh bread, the fruits of her father's labour. There was no doubt that he had been up since before the sun had even set on the opposite side of the world. To him, her early mornings were a luxurious sleep-in.

She could hear her mother's steps on the rickety staircase that led to her room, and still could not force herself to stir. It wasn't until the blankets were ungraciously ripped from her frame that she opened her eyes, emitting a hiss as goose bumps rose along her skin. The peaceful smiling face of her mother smiled down at her, blankets in hand.

"Time to wake, daughter," she said briskly in mandarin, folding the blankets and placing them at the foot of Marinette bed, too far from reach to be grabbed back, "you must help your papa this morning, there is no time for sleeping the day away."

Marinette sighed, but willed herself to rise from her mattress; there was no point in voicing her opinion that the day generally required for the sun to be in the sky. Her mother's opinion was that it began when you woke, and the earlier the better to get more work done. She swung her feet from her bed in a creaking of springs and hissed as they touched the cold, unvarnished floor. Even now in late spring, the air in her attic room was cold enough that Marinette's breath misted as she forced herself over to her washstand. A splash of ice-cold water to the face was all it took to scare away the last vestiges of sleep, and hurry her into her layers of clothing, the faster to be warm.

Still, she reflected, as she struggled with her girdle, as cold as it was, at least she didn't have to crack the ice on her water to wash anymore; summer was on the way. Soon the sun may even have risen by the time she was expected to wake, and she needn't wear so many layers that she felt like a swaddled child. She may even be able to style a nice outfit if she got the time, and cloth. There was little room for fashion when she had to work every day to stay warm. Her old wooden manikin had remained covered in the corner of the attic for most of the winter, unused as her room got too cold to work in and hiding her last experimental piece as she turned to layers to stay warm. But she could see it coming out of hiding and being in pride of place once again, soon. Hurriedly pulling on her boots, Marinette smiled as she headed downstairs to the warm, ready to see what the day held for her.

It was well into to the day, that is to say, ten in the morning, by the time Marinette saw a face she knew. The bell of the bakery chimed as Ayla bounced though the door in a whirlwind of greetings and siblings clinging to her skirts. Her hair pinned to mimic the bob the more daring kind of models wore, Ayla always looked on the verge on bohemian, even in the sombre work clothes she had to wear as a secretary at the local newspaper's office.

"Mari!" she called, over the voices of her sisters begging for iced buns, "I know you're in there somewhere, come out!"

Laden with a tray of freshly baked bread, Marinette appeared from the kitchen, sweat still beading her brow from the heat of the ovens.

"Ayla, I should have known it was you, I hear the children screaming from release from their captor!" she said, setting her heavy tray on the polished counter and smiling at the children now peeking over the edge.

"I wonder if some kind of nourishment is required to stop their cries?" she asked with a coy smile, causing the girls to giggle, eyes glittering as they bounced in excitement. As if by magic, she produced two buns from behind her back, which were immediately pounced upon by her eager audience. Ayla rolled her eyes with a smile.

"You let them play you for sweets, Mari, but- "she leaned over the counter in conspiracy- "that is not why I came here." From her pocket, she pulled a rumpled newspaper clipping, ripped from the days paper. In bold font, plastered above of a black and white blurred image of a thin-faced, stern-looking man in wire-rimmed glasses, a title proclaimed:

AGRESTE AND SON TO MOVE TO PARIS.

"Agreste… the designer?" Mari asked, as if she didn't know. She had poured over his designs in every second-hand magazine Ayla had been able to wrangle from the office. He was the talk of New York, and now he was coming here!

"Yes, THE Agreste, isn't it exciting? To this very city! Perhaps you'll meet him someday, Chica!" Ayla said, grinning excitedly. Marinette laughed, the thought so outrageous she couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"If I ever get to leave this bakery for long enough to make anything worthy of wearing in front of him!" she scoffed, and though Ayla laughed with her, she ended it with a look that let her know she wouldn't let it go.

"Your designs are worthy, my friend, but-" her best friend gave a warning nudge as the steps of Marinette's mother approached. The ritual pantomime of Ayla buying a loaf of bread was preformed, and pleasantries exchanged between Marinette's friends and mother in broken French and mandarin. Despite Ayla's bohemian ways, Marinette's mother approved of her and the sheer amount of bread she seemed to buy each day. It was a wonder she never noticed how many loaves Ayla "forgot" behind her, and how the franc she paid with was handed back to her as change. But as Ayla had said before, the mind does not worry about what the eye cannot see.

After Marinette's mother had once again disappeared up to the higher floors, Ayla leaned on the counter again, and Marinette did the same, settling into the much-used position of gossip to be exchanged.

"But the real reason I called by today is to talk about his son."

"His son?" ask Marinette, a bemused frown crossing her features. Ayla nodded, pushing up her small, round glasses knowingly.

"Adrian. He's moved here early to get a feel for the city before the season, and you'll never guess, but…Nino is his chauffeur!"

"Really! How lucky for him!" said Marinette, she could see why Ayla was excited. As her beau, Niño was a direct link to information about the Agrestes'; a channel she could use to start her journalistic career.

"Lucky for all of us you mean," said Ayla, lips twitching in a wry smile, "I told him to recommend this bakery as the finest in Paris, so you may be seeing him sometime soon!"

"You did what!" yelped Marinette, as her friend laughed, "what if he comes in and I'm all sweaty, or my mother is on the till, or, or it's flour-delivery day, you know how dusty it gets in here…"

Alya chuckled as her friend rambled on, herding her siblings to the door and out into the street. Leaning back through the doorway she waved a carefree hand at Marinette, still mumbling nervously behind the counter.

"Don't worry ma Cherie," she said, with a playful grin, "I'm sure you'll dazzle him with your inner bohemian chic!"

With a wink and a wave, she was gone, the bell heralding her departure as it had her arrival, and leaving Marinette staring after her in a mix of confusion, nerves, and anticipation. For what, exactly, she wasn't sure.

SOo, this is my first foray into the Miraculous fandom: Hi, how ya'll doing?

I've had this AU in mind for a while, so o I'm finally trying to get it out there!

Anyhow, thanks for reading, and feel free to tell me what you think!

~CC


	2. Sweet and sour

Authors Note: Reuploaded! I didnt realise something went buggy with this chapter, until late last night thanks to jon4576 for giving me the heads-up! ^^'

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Marinette's head spun as she fought through the crowd of customers to get to the door of the bakery. In the heat of summer, the seating area outside her parent's bakery was packed full of happy Parisians soaking up the sun with coffee and croissants. The tables and chairs lining the sidewalk threatened to spill onto the street, and it was a fight to get through them to the bakery itself. More so if your arms were laden with dishes and you were stopped every ten seconds to take another order for coffee, anther for "one of those flat things with the chocolate, you know the ones, don't you?" And constantly, _constantly_ , people she knew stopping her to chat.

Finally, with arms shaking under their towering load, she reached the darkness of the shop itself. On sunny days like these the tiny inside of the bakery was usually quiet, with a few, more elderly customers sitting at the tiny tables as they quietly chatted over their pastries or read the newspaper. The peaceful atmosphere was a blessed contrast to the exuberance outside.

Arms now screaming at her, Marinette maneuverer behind the counter with difficulty, desperate to dump these on Manon, who was manning the sink today, a job she did not envy. It was just as she stepped though the doorway that the sound of the ruckus outside swelled and dropped rapidly within the shop as the door was opened, the sound of the bell hidden in the cacophony of laughter and voiced from outside.

"Just a moment, please," she called, and she hurried to the sink to dump the dishes, to Manon's dismay, and wash her hands free of sugar powder and coffee. As she was shaking her hands free of the icy water, there was a commotion on the stairs, and her mother rushed to the doorway, looking flustered.

"Maman?" Marinette asked, switching to mandarin when she didn't respond, " Maman, what's wrong"

Tom looked up from kneading a lump of bread dough half the size of his small wife, concern crossing his kindly face.

"My dear? Are you alright?" he said, taking in his wife's strange expression.

Unresponsive, Sabine hurried across the room, gesturing to Marinette to follow. She stopped just short of the door and peeked into the shop. Behind her, her daughter and husband exchanged confused glances.

"There is a very fancy," she switched from mandarin to French mid-sentence, as she often did when speaking to both her husband and child at once, "motor outside, I'm sure I saw at least of one of the people in it on in the paper recently..." She peeked through the door again, and then turned to Marinette, abruptly coming to her senses.

"Cherie, you have flour on your cheek," with a deft movement, she brushed off her daughter's face, and then her straightened her apron, and tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

"Now, go out, and be hospitable" she said, steering Marinette through the door.

Marinette stumbled over the threshold and tried to put on the smile she had seen her mother reserve for their best customers.

"Good afternoon, what can I do for…" she trailed off as she saw, still standing just inside the door, a pair of angels. Clad in off-white and cream, both were blondes and clothed in the latest Parisian fashion. They looked dressed for a garden party, the young man in an immaculate linen suit, the fit of the jacket accentuated with tiny green pinstripes. The girl on his arm was, in Marinette's mind, probably the most sophisticated person ever to set foot in the bakery. Face hidden in shadow by the rim of her closh hat, she was the image of dainty in a low waisted day dress, creamy yellow lace panelled along the side and forming the short sleeves. The little hair she could see from beneath the brim of the hat was in perfect marcel waves, gleaming in the sun almost as brightly as the long string of pearls wrapped around her neck. For a moment, Marinette thought she had never seen anything as beautiful as the girl's ensemble. That is, until her counterpart stepped forward and smiled at her.

All at once, Marinette's world shrank to that smile, and the way it seemed to catch the light. It was in invitation to talk, to smile along with it, to look up into the eyes that twinkled above it. And look she did, despite the risk of drowning in them.

Once the handsome youth reached the counter, he leaned on it, as easy and comfortable as Ayla would be on any given morning. He beckoned to Marinette as if he wanted to share a joke, an unknowable glint in his eye. Still mesmerised, she dimly realised that that beautiful smile was parting, that the boy in front of her was about to speak, and she took a deep breath. trying to pull herself and her rapidly-dissolving mind together

Already feeling a blush crawling up her neck, she bent towards him too, trying to maintain the air of a gracious shopkeeper instead of the goofy smile she could feel working across her face. She didn't lean against the counter as casually as he, but she was glad she had at least a hand on it, because her knees threatened to buckle on her when he finally spoke.

"I have been informed that this bakery is the best in all of Paris," he said, his voice as charming and confident as his smile. Marinette couldn't help but notice his french, though impeccable, had a hint of an American twang, and with a glace over his shoulder, he continued, "And from what I can see from outside, it seems pretty popular, at least."

Marinette swallowed, trying to quell the flush of red she could feel crawling up her neck. _'Words, Marinette, use your words!_ ' she thought dimly, but her tongue felt slow and heavy.

"I-I, uh, W-well, err..." Marinette could feel some semblance for her sane self-screaming faintly as she tried to force her lips to form coherent words. "AHEM, I-I mean, Welcome t-to Dupain boulangerie patisserie!" she finally managed to squeak and gave a silent prayer of thanks as her brain finally started supplying words of the familiar script, with only a minor stutter in the face of this attentive golden god.

"You flatter us, s-sir," she said, even managing a weak smile as her mouth carried on its own accord, " p-please, time anything you'd like, take your try to choose!" she babbled, and there was a heartbeat in which her brain caught up with her mouth, and resulting in Marinette's face to burn hotter than a bread over. For his part, man before her hid any confusion he had beneath a kindly, well-bred smile, and Marinette felt her heart thud as he spoke again.

"Thank, you miss…" he paused, and raise a polite, inquiring eyebrow at her in question. Brain still struggling, Marinette stared dumbly at him for a moment before her moth tripped into gear.

"M-Marinette, p-p-please to muh-meet you," she manged, nervously tucking a hair behind her ear as he smiled warmly at her. "A-and you are?"

"HAH, _that's_ something!" a snide voice cut into the dreamy world Marinette had entered, attached to the girl in the oh-so elegant clothes. However, the face Marinette once thought pretty was scrunched into a sneer, bright blue eyes hard and mocking.

"Adri-kins did you hear? This stupid shop girl doesn't even know who you _are_ ," she laughed scornfully, fingers fluttering playfully against his chest as she tucked her arm back under his, pulling him away from the counter. The other blonde seemed uncomfortable with this sudden close contact and looked at his companion confused. Eyes glittering maliciously, she turned to Marinette, but still addressed her captive when she spoke.

" _Imagine,_ being such a sap that you don't realise when _Adrien Agreste_ walks into your miserable little shop!"

'Adrien Agreste…. ADRIEN AGRESTE?' Marinette's world suddenly gave a great lurch and she clutched the counter a bit tighter as the turmoil in her mind rose a fell in a sudden crescendo.

'Adrien Agreste… son of the designer that I've idolised MY WHOLE LIFE?'

Adrien, for his part seemed abashed, suddenly less confident in the clutch of his… _('friend? Sister? Oh, please let it be sister,'_ Marinette pleaded with the universe.)

"Chloѐ," he said quietly, a soft frown forming as he glanced from her to Marinette, "there's no need to be rude, you can't expect everyone in Paris to know me." He looked back to Marinette, who once again felt her cheeks burn as he gave her an apologetic smile. Chloѐ merely snorted, raising petite blonde eyebrows in disbelief.

"Oh Adri-kins, you do joke! everyone who is _anyone_ knows who you are _._ And this shop girl clearly isn't…anyone." she said, looking Marinette dead in the eye as she lingered over the last word.

Marinette flushed again, but this time the emotion that roiled within her was darker and pushed words to her lips instead of starving her of them, but it seemed Chloѐ wasn't done. Lips twisted in a sneer, Chloѐ gestured to the humble bakery around her.

"Look at this place! It's so lowly I'm surprised it's still running! They must really not care for their employees…" at this point, Marinette couldn't help but blink, incredulous. What was this girl attempting to do? Rile her up by claiming they were a failing business, in open defiance of the crowd they must have fought though to get in the door? Marinette was too sure of her family and their business to be angered by some child having a tantrum. She resolved to smile though the rest of tirade when Chloѐ dramatically raised a hand to her mouth and stage-whispered to Adrien in a voice that could easily reach Marinette and any other patrons of the shop.

"I mean, look at what she's _wearing_ "

Marinette saw red. She did not live, breathe and sweat fashion to be insulted by some rich brat for wearing a working uniform!

"I'll have you know that I'm wearing working clothes, though I doubt you'd recognise them as _you've_ obviously never worked a day in your life!" the words were spilling from her mouth before she knew it, and she found malicious glee in Chloe's scandalised gasp as she ploughed on, words almost tripping over themselves in their effort to be heard.

"In fact, I think the only work you'd be fit for is staying out of the way on a chaise lounge, and hopefully it won't collapse under the weight of your ego!" she finished and promptly clapped a hand over her mouth in an effort to stop it running of its own accord.

Chloѐ, on the other hand, looked on in shock, blue eyes wide and dazed, perfect lips slightly ajar. Then her face snapped back into seething, embarrassed rage. She pointed an immaculate finger at Marinette, pushing so close she went cross-eyed to keep it in sight.

"You have _no idea_ who you're talking to," she hissed, her eyes promising a thousand deaths to Marinette, starting with impalement upon her perfectly manicured nails. Abruptly she turned and tugged on Adrien's arm, breaking her withering stare to gaze up at him with hurt eyes, lips forming a wobbling pout.

"Did you hear what she said to me, Adrien?" she whimpered, her voice sickeningly sweet, even to someone who lived and worked in a patisserie, "I can't bear to stay in such an _awfu_ l place, let's go."

Adrien, who's expression had grown into one of slightly-amused bewilderment, pulled his arm gently from hers, and gestured back to counter and the beautiful display of cakes it held.

"But, Chloѐ, we haven't even bought anything," he said simply, as if the heated exchange between the two girls had never taken place. Chloѐ looked at him in disbelief, suddenly adrift in the centre of the floor without the security of a handsome arm to hold.

A pale pink flush rose to her cheeks as she realised he wasn't going to take her side in this, and her dainty, gloved hands formed into fists.

"Adrien!" she whined, signalling with a jerk of her head that he was supposed to follow her lead. Adrien simply raised his hands in a shrug, and Marinette had to bite back a smile as Chloѐ stamped a kitten heel in frustration.

"Fine, buy your greasy pastries then!" she snapped, turning in a swirl of lace and pearls and flouncing towards the door, "I'll be in the motor."

Her dramatic exit only somewhat marred by the jolly tinkling of the bell over the door, and the fact that, immediately after her departure she popped her head back in to issue a final demand;

"And if you don't get me some raspberry macaroons I'm leaving you behind!"

The two watched the door swing shut for a final time, silence settling back over the scene as the patrons returned to their newspapers and gossip, an obviously fresh topic to discuss after Chloe's display. Marinette couldn't help but bite back a chuckle, and it was only when she met Adrien's eyes and the humour sparkling within them that she cracked and let loose a giggle.

Adrien chuckled along with her, ending it with a rueful shake of his head, glancing back to the door as if wary Chloѐ was about to barge back in.

"I apologise for my...cousin... she is a little protective of me," he said his weary smile telling her that this wasn't the first time he had had to apologise for such an outburst.

' _But…cousin, hmm?_ ' Marinette quashed the sly though that slid into her copiousness as she registered those words, trying to focus on maintaining a coherent conversation that she knew was coming to an end.

"No, it is I who should apologise," Marinette said, amazed at how easily words were coming to her now., with the adrenaline still pumping through her blood. It _did_ help if she didn't look at his face, though she hoped that he would assume she was being humble by looking away, and not realise she was desperately staring at the croissants as she tried to focus.

"It wasn't my place to explode like that," she manged to glace at his face again quick enough for him to flash her a smile and her heart to stutter as he did so, "I-I hope that I didn't discourage you from visiting us again…"

Adrien gave an easy shrug, "Honestly, it was somewhat refreshing to see her not get her way for once," he said, and then touched a hand to his lips, as if the words had come unbidden. He looked to Marinette with a guilt-tinged smile and carried on, "Anyway, I shall have to see if these pastries are worth Chloѐ being angry at me if I return." With a sudden rush of confidence, Marinette grinned, and shook out a paper bag in preparation.

"If it all depends on the pastries," she said, finding it in herself to give him a proper look in the eye, "Then I should be seeing you again soon Mr. Agreste, as my papa's baking is truly the best in all of Paris!"

Adrien grinned back at her, eyes following her hands greedily as she picked the choicest of pastries from their racks, including a wide variety of freshly-baked treats (and a few raspberry macaroons for a certain brat.)

She gave the neck of the bag a deft twist with a practiced hand before handing it to Adrien, who took it with a grateful smile. He began to fumble in his coat pockets but Marinette waved it away.

"It's on the house," she insisted, casting her eyes down again under the pretext of brushing away some crumbs. It was Adrien's laugh that jerked her eyes back to his.

"Well in that case, I simply have come back here," he said, and she couldn't help but notice how his blonde hair caught the light as he nodded goodbye.

"Please do," for what seemed like the countless time in their conversation, the words sprung from Marinette's mouth, and she felt her fingernails grind into her palms as she resisted the urge to cover her burning face with her hands.

But Adrien merely smiled and gave one final wave as the bell over the door once again rang out as he departed. Marinette watched his form get lost in the frosted glass and heard to motor kick on and pull away from the shopfront. It was only them she left go a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding and let her hands crawl up over her eyes.

 _'Oh, Marinette, I guess we're adding unlucky in love to the rest of the list, huh?'_

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HEeeey sorry again about that!

I was nervous enough about this chapter because of all the dialouge and then to mess up like thAT!?

Anyway, I hope I didn't scare anyone off with all the weird jumble of code and stuff?! (I dont really know what happened I just deleted it RIghT aWAy)

Thanks for reading and let me know what you think!

~CC


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